


Wetwork

by Sceilg



Category: Claws (TV)
Genre: F/F, NSFW, desnann forever, hire me TNT, kids don't read, roller fans do not interact, somebody had to do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 09:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sceilg/pseuds/Sceilg
Summary: Quiet Ann speaks her mind. Spoilers for both seasons below, along with a brief and harsh (but not explicit) mention of CSA.





	Wetwork

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the gays](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+gays).



Quiet Ann enters the nail salon and greets Polly, Jenn, Desna and Virginia at their work stations. She inhales and exhales emphatically, blowing a raspberry before opening her mouth to speak. 

QUIET ANN: “Okay. You guys know how I’m working on speaking my mind and asking what I need…”

Polly looks up from the polishes she’s arranging and smiles wide. 

POLLY: “Yes, Ann?”

JENN: “What’s up, babe?”

DESNA: “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Virginia continues tapping at her cell phone until Desna glares at her, then quickly sits up in her chair and sets her phone down on her lap. 

VIRGINIA: “Oh. Sorry girl. Go ahead.” 

She smiles big and pretends to look very interested, her eyes still shifting to the Instagram post open below. 

Ann clears her throat. 

ANN: “Desna…I think you should break up with Roller.”

Desna chuckles bitterly. 

DESNA: “Uh, okay.” She looks about her, running her eyes over the shocked faces of the other women. “Why?”

Pause. The right corner of Ann's mouth twitches upward. She locks eyes with Desna. She opens her mouth again. 

ANN: “I hate him.”

Desna: “Um…” Desna lets out another angry laugh. “Since when?” She leans on the corner of her work station and folds her hands over her lap, the gold filigree damask on her nails glinting in the fluorescent light. 

ANN: “I always did. I just never said it.”

Desna’s mouth opens reflexively in shock, her shoulders and back stiff-straight in indignation. 

DESNA: “What did Roller ever do to you?”

ANN: “He’s racist. He’s sexist. He’s dumb,” Ann spits, slowly walking toward Desna. 

Polly nods downward. 

POLLY: “Well, she is right about that…”

ANN: “I’m not done.”

POLLY: “Oh— ,” Polly flutters her eyelashes in surprise as she’s cut off. 

ANN: “He fucked a 16-year-old. Knowingly.” 

Desna flinches. The salon is silent. 

ANN: “He almost killed Virginia. He almost killed _you_.”

Virginia calls out “True that!” from the back of the room with a quick pump of her arm, not bothering to lift her head from her phone. 

DESNA: “But he didn’t,” Desna says, shaken by the grim line of Ann’s mouth. “A-and now, it doesn’t mean anything. He’s just…”

Desna rolls her eyes upwards in search of the right phrase.

“Just…a boy toy. You don’t need to worry about me, Ann— ” 

ANN: “Well, maybe you should get your sexual gratification somewhere else.”

Jenn’s eyes widen. She turns to look at Polly, mouth transformed into a little _o_ , and Virginia, brows furrowed, and makes a slight motion with her head before rising from her seat, her gaze never meeting Ann’s. 

JENN: “I’m gonna go get some shrimp.”

Her heels clatter toward the door. 

VIRGINIA: “I’ll hold the drinks.”

Polly waves as she cuts just between the closing door. 

POLLY: “Bye y’all!” 

Desna’s eyes follow Polly’s scamper out. She pauses before turning to face Ann once more, voice breaking. 

DESNA: “Ann, you know how hard it is for me to find men my age! Why can’t you just let me have this? At least Roller cares about me for real, a-and doesn’t want to kill me now!”

Desna holds her hand up to her forehead, incredulous. 

“Who else is gonna go down on me?!” she exclaims, holding an arm outstretched to the door. Tears begin to prick at her eyes at the intensity of Ann’s glare. 

The salon is suddenly very hot. Desna mentally curses at Jenn for holding the door open and throwing off the delicate balance between the unyielding Florida humidity and Nail Artisans’ carefully curated 76.5 degrees of conditioned air. 

Ann swallows, sighs deeply. She relaxes the tension in her arms, looks down to the floor, then back up at Desna, unblinking. 

ANN: “Me.”


End file.
